Page 48 of Everything She Does Is Magic

“No!” Mom hurries out.

“Absolutely not!” Dad practically falls forward with this assurance. “We are so happy to see you living as your true self. We don’t care about gender. We just care aboutyou. But you’re telling us that you want to be her protector at the same time that you’re saying that you want to go to college out of state. How can both of those things be true?”

He’s got me there. “That’s what makes all this so confusing,” I say, close to tears already. “It’s just that everyone wants to decide what I get to do with my life,” I continue. “All I’ve ever wanted to do is make you guys proud, but I also want a chance to at least learn what my life could be like if I didn’t live here. And maybe I’d hate it. Maybe I’d want to come back after a week. But I want to at leasttry. Anya was the first person to ever make me think I could. And then it turned out that she wanted something from me too.”

My parents’ hurt is evident, and it only hurtsmeworse to see it.

“C’mon. You’ve written out my whole life plan without consulting me,” I say. It feels good to empty this out. For once to say this as it is and not pretend I mean something other than what I say. “I can’t believe that Anya did it to me too, telling herfamily I planned to be her protector here in Fableview. Even if she didn’t actually mean it, it still hurts. Everyone wants to give me responsibilities, knowing I can take anything on, but no one ever includes me in the conversation about what that responsibility will be.”

“You’re still grounded,” Dad tells me.

This takes both Mom and me by surprise. He’s always been the more amenable one in my eyes, the one more likely to see things my way. Whenever I have a request for a later curfew or a need for a new phone, he’s the one I ask. But he’s harsh now, unflinching in the face of my raw, wounded truth.

“You didn’t give us a say in your plan either,” he continues. “You’ve had plenty of time to discuss college with us, and instead of doing that, you sprang it on us with no notice. We were at a friendly meal with a group of people we barely know. No matter how you were feeling inside, that wasn’t an appropriate setting. We are your parents. We love you. We want the best for you. But we want to be a part of the conversation too.”

“That’s exactly what you did to me with the shop!” I argue back, my hysteria rising. It all feels so deeply unfair.

“You’re right,” Mom says, placing a gentle hand on Dad’s arm.

“Him or me?” I ask.

“Both of you. We’re all stressed. We’ve taken on too much, and we’re not spending enough time on what matters. That’s what my mom used to tell me. Don’t forget the people who matter. And we’ve been forgetting each other.”

“You’re the ones who made us this busy,” I can’t help but say.

“I know. But we can’t ever be too busy for our own family.” She looks to Dad, waiting for him to get on board.

They have a stony exchange with only their eyes, doing theirsilent parental thing until Dad loosens his tie and says, “We’ll ground ourselves too.”

“You’ll…what?”

“We’ll stay home with you,” he explains. “As of right now, the entire Keller family is under house arrest.”

This is supposed to be some kind of compromise that makes it better. That’s what they seem to think, giving each other proud-parent looks, like they’ve really handled this well. But they haven’t handled anything. They haven’t really heard me.

“It doesn’t matter what we do,” I tell them, storming toward my bedroom. “Because I already applied to a college out of state. And if I get in, I’m definitely going there.”

With that, I slam my door shut, closing them out of this discussion for the rest of the night.

9 Days Until Halloween

24

Anya

Right as my mind is about to drift off, finally surrendering me to the sweet mercy of sleep after the previous night’s terrible, restless thrashing—me unable to stop replaying the horrible conversation with Darcy—there are two loud thuds and one distinct cry of frustration.

“Shit!”

I startle out of bed. There’s an intruder in my room. I need to learn martial arts or something. Glares won’t cut it in hand-to-hand combat.

But a fight won’t be necessary. At least I hope not.

Grace Manalo is currently splayed across my floor. She’s wearing all black, down to two smudges underneath each eye, with a bandana tied around her forehead, holding back her braids.

“Did you just break in through my window?” I ask her.

She blows an exasperated puff of air toward her face, moving a stray wisp of hair out of her eyes. “I don’t know your number,and you have your DMs turned off on everything. How else do you expect people to get in contact with you?”